Prosecutor and the Beast
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Miles Edgeworth agrees to take his sister's place as a guest at the home of the mysterious slovenly 'Beast'. Over the course of the next three days, he attempts to unravel the mystery behind this hobo's past and resist the matchmaking attempts of the staff of advanced robots shaped as household appliances. Somehow, along the way, he finds himself falling in love... [Wrightworth AU]
1. Day 1: Investigation

I've been writing this very slowly since late 2016. It's getting to a length where keeping it all on one document on my computer is getting a bit frustrating (for me at least), plus I hope to update more frequently if it's up on more places than the kinkmeme. ;)

Should be around four chapters by the end.

* * *

 **[DAY ONE: INVESTIGATION]**

 **-xxx-**

Miles suspected from the start that Franziska really did not need him to ride in and rescue her. He only did so in the end because she didn't have a car, and she was due to prosecute an important case in the morning. Still, it was disappointing in a way, when he arrived at the abandoned Gatewater Hotel, to find her not even locked in a dungeon or at least the laundry room, but instead sipping tea in the lobby as cool as you please.

"You're late, Miles Edgeworth," she scolded at the sight of him, standing up and smoothing her skirt. She held out a commanding hand: "Keys."

Miles sighed, and handed them over. He looked around the lobby. "I see the so-called Beast made little impression upon you. Not so fearsome, then, I take it?"

"Ha!" Franziska scoffed. "The Beast is nothing more than a pitiful fool!"

But she gripped her whip harder, and frowned slightly as she spoke.

"Franzi-"

"I will return for you once the trial is concluded, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska snapped, heading for the door. "In the meantime, do try the tea. ...And don't argue with the Beast."

Miles turned to ask her what she meant by that, but too late; the glass doors had already slid shut behind her, and when he stood in front of them the sensors did not detect him. He watched thoughtfully as Franziska got into his red sportscar and drove off, leaving him trapped alone with this mysterious Beast for probably at least two days.

He wasn't especially bothered by the prospect, except...

"What on earth would make _Franziska_ unwilling to argue with someone?" Miles wondered aloud.

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," replied the teapot, in a snooty voice. It hopped a little closer as Miles yelped and jumped three feet into the air. "A cup of tea?"

 **-xxx-**

It took Miles nearly two hours to locate the Beast. He supposed he could have just spent his time in the lobby, or in the suite the teapot had provided him (it claimed to have once been a bellboy; he was frankly too shaken to question further), but Franziska's warning had left him curious. So he took to wandering the halls of the hotel, and eventually paused outside the ballroom upon hearing a horrendous racket.

Sticking his head inside the door, Miles realized he must have found the famed Beast... and a well-deserved name it was, too. The man at the piano was sitting slouched, dressed in a ratty pair of sweatpants and a gray hoodie. Flip-flops hung off his feet where he propped them loosely against the pedals, and a blue beanie obscured his hair and forehead. As Miles approached, he noted that the Beast had apparently neglected to shave this morning, and possibly several mornings before that.

Most importantly, however, his piano playing was loud, enthusiastic, and utterly _terrible_.

Hands on his ears, Miles snapped, "Would you please stop that?!"

The Beast cut off his performance with one last tuneless plunk of keys, turning his head slightly to take Miles in without standing. He grinned, a sly, insincere sort of expression.

"Ah, you must be the replacement prosecutor," he muttered. "Don't worry, I have no plans to fall in love with you."

Miles sputtered.

"...Didn't know about that, did you?" the Beast asked wryly. "Well. I promise you don't have to hang out with me; know I'm not exactly pleasant company anymore. I'd make you leave completely if I could."

"F-fix the sensors on your front doors and I'd be able to," Miles said, still a bit flustered.

"Can't, magic," the Beast claimed airily.

"Magic doesn't exist," Miles snapped.

"...I thought you met the bellboy already." It wasn't quite a question. More of a semi-smug accusation, hidden under a faux-politeness that set Miles' teeth on edge. Beast indeed.

"That wasn't magic," he sniffed. "Merely a prank of some sort. Blackquill robotics, no doubt."

The Beast finally turned to look at him head-on. His smirk was still a sideways, unpleasant sort of thing, but his mismatched eyes held a gleam of real amusement that was... intriguing.

"Did you see a microphone?" he asked. "Or any kind of spring to allow it to hop around?"

"Just because I didn't see it doesn't mean it wasn't there," Miles parried. "Technology these days tends towards the minimalist, and visible gears and wires would ruin the aesthetic of the teapot in any case."

"But wouldn't the tea itself ruin the wiring?" the Beast responded, sitting a little straighter.

Miles scoffed, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, brandishing it in the Beast's face. "Take that!"

As the Beast examined the top-of-the-line smartphone, Miles continued: "My cellphone is, as you can see, a masterwork of electronics, and would normally be quite vulnerable to liquid. However, it is safe inside a waterproof case, and thus could easily withstand hot tea or other beverages. No doubt the voicebox in the teapot was similarly protected."

The Beast hummed thoughtfully, poking at the phone like some... well, a lot like the Judge when confronted with technology, actually. Then he bent and retrieved a green bottle from beneath his seat, and promptly upended it over the phone.

"Would you look at that," he commented, as the purple liquid within spilled all over the phone and yet the screen did not change at all. "They've really done a lot with technology these days..."

He rose from his bench and tossed the phone at Miles, ignoring his squawk as the sticky liquid got all over his hands when he caught it. "Don't look at me like that, it's just grape juice," he said, and stepped around Miles entirely.

"Hey, h- HOLD IT!" Miles snapped, upon realizing that the Beast seriously intended to just walk right out of the room without even an apology. The man stiffened at his words, pausing with a hand on the doorknob. "Is - is that _it?_ "

"...Yeah. It is." The Beast still did not turn around. "You were right about the phone case. I guess you win, it must've been a robot. I... certainly can't argue with you."

The Beast's voice was low and sad on these last words. There was a mournfulness there which stunned Miles; he sounded wistful in a way that reminded Miles of his childhood, long since lost forever. It caught Miles' voice in his throat and set his heart pounding in his chest and even - for a moment - had him considering reaching out, somehow –

"I mean, it definitely doesn't add up to me, that such an average-sized teapot would have enough room to hold both a concealed spring and waterproof voicebox, and still have enough room to provide full cups of tea for both Franziska and you especially since you drank two - but hey. What do I know." The Beast tilted his head back over his shoulder, eyes glinting with an infuriating sort of amusement, and _smirked_.

Miles' fingers (sticky with grape juice) clenched in reflexive irritation.

"Too bad I can't argue with you, or I really might do something with that," the Beast sighed, and then exited the room before Miles could retort.

He was left alone in the ballroom, fuming. What a smug, passive-aggressive, sarcastic _asshole!_ Truly, a beast indeed!

...He needed to investigate the teapot matter further, then track him down and prove beyond all doubt that magic was _not_ a factor.

Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, Miles wiped the grape juice from his phone and his hands with a grimace. Then he tucked both items back into his pockets, and set out for the lobby, burning with indignation.

 **-xxx-**

He didn't make it very far. Just a few steps into the hallway, Miles was tackled by a hatstand.

"I've got him! I've got him! Polly, move in!" it shrieked in the voice of a young, excited girl.

"No," replied a clock sitting on the floor.

"Pollyyyyy," the hatstand complained, as Miles frantically wrestled it off himself and stumbled against the wall, panting. "You're no help at all. Don't you want to go back to normal already?"

"Yeah, somehow I think assaulting our only hope is pretty detrimental to that goal," the clock said sarcastically. It hopped a little closer, the hour hand wiggling back and forth. "Hi. Sorry about her. I'm Apollo, nice to meet you."

Miles opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the overeager hatstand jumping in front of him again.

"And I'm Trucy! Nice to meetcha!" It exclaimed, then without pause demanded: "So, what'd you think? Is he exactly what you've been dreaming of your whole life? Was it love at first sight?"

"…..He poured grape juice on my phone," Miles said. He felt like he was reaching something of a saturation point when it came all of this nonsense, at least enough to take it somewhat as it came. "So, not really."

Solid wood meant it should be impossible, but the hatstand appeared to _droop_.

"Daddy, why…" it mumbled. The clock hopped closer and used one of the decorative handles at its side to pat the hatstand's leg comfortingly.

"Yup, sounds about right for him," it said grimly. "But we're not gonna give up! Come on Trucy, say it with me!"

Then they started chanting determinedly about being just fine for a few minutes. Miles stared down at the pair, bemused.

"So," he said eventually, when they appeared to be finished, "Ms. Aura Blackquill's work, yes?"

They stared at him blankly. Well. Not emoting through movement, at any rate. The fact that they were furniture and had no faces meant that all their stares were rather blank when it came down to it.

"I suppose a man rich enough to live in a hotel could certainly afford several robots," he mused aloud. "Though I have to admit I don't get his taste."

"Hey!" said the clock in an offended voice.

"We're not _robots!_ " The hatstand joined in. "I'm a _magician!_ "

Miles snorted, and reached out to grab the hatstand. The voice seemed to be coming from the top, so if he could just examine that area for speakers then he would be able to show that Beast definitive evidence of –

"OW!"

The hatstand shuffled backwards, waggling the arm it had just smacked him with. "Don't grab my face! That's really rude!"

Miles frowned, and stepped forward to look again – and was promptly tripped by a furious clock.

"TAKE THAT!" it shouted at deafening volume, directly into his ear. Miles made a grab for it, but it hopped back out of reach. The hatstand swung in threateningly…

"Alright! Alright, I'm stopping!" Miles put his hands up in surrender. The hatstand and clock retreated warily across the hallway, grumbling to one another.

"First crazy whip lady, and now this guy… ugh, prosecutors suck."

"I'm _glad_ Daddy poured grape juice on his phone. Serves him right."

Sitting up slowly, Miles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He'd just gotten into fight with some _furniture_ , for heaven's sake. He was definitely better than that, whether they admitted to being robots or not.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was… eager to gather some evidence for a disagreement with, um, the Beast." It occurred to him that neither he nor the Beast had introduced themselves at any point. "My name is Miles Edgeworth."

The clock ticked in a resentful sort of way, but at least the hatstand forgave easily enough.

"Hi Mr. Edgeworth," it said, voice back to chirpy. "Um, Daddy's name is Ph- Ph- Fffff – ugh! Stupid curse!"

"'Wright' should be okay," said the clock, "There's a lot of those. Oh, yep, it works. His name is Mr. Wright. Sorry he pulled that whole cryptic act on you. He's really not that bad a guy."

"Daddy is awesome," the hatstand claimed loyally.

Miles peered at it quizzically. He saw neither any kind of speaker or any resemblance to being related to a human being.

"Right," he said doubtfully.

"...Hey, what time is it?" The clock asked, breaking the awkward silence that followed. "–I can't see myself so don't even start."

"Nearly six," Miles said mildly. He had no desire to get into another fight, and the clock sounded touchy about this.

"Crap, I'd better go help the bellboy get dinner started. Truce, you wanna introduce the others while we're busy?"

"…Others?"

 **-xxx-**

A robotic teapot was odd enough. Still, at least it appeared to serve some function, and it was even programmed to fit the hotel theme. A robotic clock was a little less thematic, but still, not so crazy. Giving it a full artificial personality was taking matters a bit further than most, granted, but not beyond an accomplished roboticist like Blackquill.

The hatstand – Miles just really didn't get that one. Especially giving it the ability to wander around. Still. If it were just that one, he could have managed.

But this? This had to be the strangest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

–And, dammit, he couldn't even imagine _how_ they were supposed to be robots!

The ladder and bouncy ball introduced themselves as Maya and Pearl respectively, and at this point Miles didn't even see the point anymore in avoiding names or gendered pronouns. Standing before him was a friendly female ladder, her younger cousin the rubber bouncy ball, and a hatstand that was the daughter of the man publicly known only as 'the Beast'. That was it.

 _…Stick a fork in me. I'm done._

"Hey, you look pretty tired," Maya said, joints creaking as she shuffled closer. "Want me to show you to your room?"

"No, no, he has to eat dinner with Mr. NrrwWright!" Pearl insisted. "Oh, geez, that's weird. It never happened before."

"Well, we all know who Daddy is so there'd be no reason for it to," Trucy said reasonably. "But yeah, a romantic dinner is definitely a must!"

" _Guys_ , Mr. Edgeworth has had a long day! He probably wants to go at least put his briefcase away and freshen up. We should probably take him to _Room 303_ so he can do that!"

"Ohhhh," Trucy and Pearl said in unsubtle tones of dawning comprehension. Miles surreptitiously slid the edge of the keycard the bellboy had given him out of his pocket. As he suspected, it was assigned to Room 217.

Tucking his key back into his pocket, he followed the girls anyway. Might as well see what they intended… and should it be in any way sinister, he was fairly certain he could outrun all of them.

 **-xxx-**

Room 303 was fairly average, as hotel rooms went. A single room, it held a queen-sized bed with bland brown covers, one table with two chairs, a bathroom, and a dresser with a very large floral arrangement. The bed wasn't made, and there was an empty bottle of grape juice leaving a sticky ring on the table, but all in all the room was actually rather tidy. Frankly, it was a little disappointing, both as a mystery destination and as the lair of the Beast.

For it obviously was the Beast's room; the only question was, why had Maya been so eager to show it to him?

"Here you go, Mr. Edgeworth!" she said cheerfully. "Go ahead, take a _reeeeal_ good look around! We want to be sure we meet your high standards, after all."

Miles played along, advancing into the room and placing his suitcase on the bed. "I'm not a snob. …But at least making the bed is surely the very basics."

"'I'm not a snob,'" Trucy mocked in a snotty, subdued voice that led Miles to believe she was by nature extremely messy.

Pearl squeaked in a sort of apologetic way, but Maya remained unperturbed.

"You try making a bed without any hands, then we'll talk."

Miles hummed thoughtfully, peering into the small closet alcove next to the bathroom. To his surprise, a blue suit was hanging inside a plastic cover. It was an old suit, cheap and shabby, but still far more formal than the Beast's current attire, and he couldn't really picture the man he'd seen wearing it. Furthermore, the dust along the plastic sleeve suggested that the suit hadn't been worn for some time… still, Wright had apparently valued it enough to keep safely tucked away. Interesting.

He proceeded into the bathroom, but the contents were unremarkable, outside of a tube of strong hairgel. Apparently, under that grubby beanie the Beast was carefully coiffed… or, perhaps not. Upon further examination, the tube was still sealed. There was also a shaving kit next to it, obviously equally unused.

Miles turned around to go back into the main part of the room, only to be stopped by all of the furniture crowding up the doorway, whispering eagerly to one another. He cleared his throat, and they all jumped (Pearl, in particular, started to bounce in place in a jittery sort of caught-out fashion).

"Uh! So! A-aren't you gonna rifle through the drawers anytime soon?" Trucy demanded, shifting swiftly from off-guard to aggressive. It was a transition worthy of any prosecutor whose witness had been caught out in a lie; Miles couldn't help but smile.

"Is that what you want me to do?" he asked mildly. Pearl's next bounce hit the ceiling.

"Well, yeah, I thought that was pretty standard!" Maya covered, and nudged the other girls out of the way so that they could all go to the main room. "I mean, how else are you gonna know if there's a big wad of cash left behind by the previous occupant?"

"I think the maids would find such a thing first," Miles commented, as he approached the bedside table. "Though, given the state of the bed in this particular room…"

"Har har," the ladder said. If she had eyes, Miles suspected she'd be rolling them. He smirked slightly as he finally pulled back the drawer in front of him – and stopped still.

"Hmm," he said, quietly, and reached inside. There was a soft chorus of gasps behind him as his fingers closed around the defense attorney's badge and lifted it up to the light.

It was the first time he'd ever held one in his hand since childhood; perhaps for that reason, the small pin seemed heavier than the metal it was made of. The sunflower shape was more rounded than the sharpness of his prosecutor's badge, but perhaps that was to be expected. Still… Miles rubbed his thumb across the cool metal, and nodded to himself. It felt worn, well-used. Despite being left to rattle around in a drawer, the actual surface of the badge itself was more dinged up than that alone could account for. Clearly, this thing had seen some action at one point – perhaps while pinned to the lapel of that blue suit.

He flipped the badge over and read the numbers on the back out loud.

"26381… What's your story?"

"A _closed book_ ," a sharp voice cut in from behind him. Miles whirled around, heart racing – sure enough, the Beast himself loomed in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face. He filled the tiny entryway; Miles was fairly certain that he was actually a little taller than the other man, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. Wright's shoulders were broad and, even through the hoodie he wore, his movements as he stepped further into the room spoke of pure _power_. And not only that: _rage_ , just barely restrained. For a frantic second, Miles tried to remember whether the thumb went inside or outside a fist; glancing down at the Beast's hands, he swallowed as his question was answered.

"Hello," he answered, attempting to sound nonchalant. "I was just settling into my room–"

"Put that badge back," the Beast ordered forcefully. His voice was low, controlled. But full of tension, too, and in a moment the scowl was gone from his lips, replaced by a cold smile somehow more menacing. "And get the _hell_ out of here."

"Hey, Nnn- you," the ladder attempted to interject. "Don't talk like that around –"

" _Shut up, stepladder_ ," the Beast hissed, and Maya flinched with a metallic creak. "I can't believe you'd do this. I've – I've _told_ you, so many times…"

He fell silent; heavy, it filled the room. Miles watched with narrowed eyes as the Beast went from furious to weary in a slow slide of shifting tension. He lifted a hand up as if to rub across his head, only to pause upon touching his beanie. Turning slightly, he glanced at Trucy and Pearl, both sitting very still and quiet next to the bed.

For a moment, Miles almost expected an apology… but the Beast only sighed.

"Get out of here," he said softly. "Can you ask the bellboy to bring my dinner up here?"

Pearl rolled meekly out of the room without a sound. The hatstand followed her, but paused in the doorway.

"Daddy," Trucy said, and it shouldn't have been possible, but her voice sounded on the edge of tears. "Sometimes you really _suck_."

Wright didn't wince so much as he went very still.

"I know," he said, in a miserable _sotto voce_. Miles was fairly certain the girl outside hadn't heard, but he must have reacted somehow, as a moment later, the Beast's head jerked up, and their eyes locked.

"You're still holding that badge," he noted emotionlessly.

"Ah, yes. My apologies," Miles said, and held it out in front of himself. "I believe this is yours."

Wright stared down at the badge Miles held for a long moment; then, deliberately, he placed his hands inside his pockets.

"You can put it back in the nightstand, thanks," he said, with a wry smile that felt like a lock slamming shut.

Irritated, Miles did so. He slid the drawer shut, then crossed his arms over his chest, standing up straighter and raising an eyebrow at the man before him. In response, the Beast's shoulders slumped further, his stance relaxing to something indolent and a little smug.

He lifted his chin a bit, and smiled blandly. "Feel free to leave anytime."

Miles smiled back, tightly, and stepped forward. The Beast didn't bother to move out of his way, so he was forced to brush his shoulder past the other man. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a smirk, and fought not to respond, despite the hot flare of anger it provoked. He really, really did not like this Beast's attitude.

Much like Trucy had, Miles paused in the doorway.

"Miss Maya," he asked. "Will you be joining me?"

"No, that's okay," she said. Her voice was solemn. "You go ahead. I'm going to stay here and have a chat with the Boss."

Miles inclined his head, and exited the room. He paused outside the door after it had swung shut behind him, but he didn't hear any voices immediately and he wasn't going to sink to eavesdropping. Snooping had been bad enough, no matter how clearly sanctioned it had been. Still, at least it had proved informative…

He made his way downstairs slowly, lost in thought. The pieces were not that hard to fit together, honestly: the suit, the unused products in the bathroom, the badge, even the Beast's claim that he 'couldn't argue' – it all painted a clear picture. The Beast, this Mr. Wright, had once been a lawyer. Furthermore, whatever had torn him from that profession had almost certainly been against his will. The way he'd lashed out, his quiet admission of self-castigation, the longing in his eyes as he stared at the badge in Miles' hand… they were all edges of some huge scar, the full form of which Miles couldn't yet see.

But he _wanted_ to. Perhaps against his better judgement, Miles was _intrigued_ now by the mystery that was Mr. Wright. The man's voice had gone so soft when he'd spoken to Trucy, and there had been something in his eyes before he locked it away… Miles felt drawn to it, despite how aggravated the man's more Beastly behaviors made him. He wanted to know the full story – why the Beast was so closed-off and yet seemingly wistful, what had led him to this, playing terrible piano in an empty hotel and blaming curses for his bitterness. He suspected there was still something remaining of the person Wright had once been; at least, all the robots seemed to like him far more than his current behavior warranted.

The Beast himself clearly didn't feel inclined to tell him anything. But that was all right; he had other options.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket as he approached the restaurant, Miles typed out a quick message before slipping it back away.

[ _to: Detective Gumshoe_

Look up former defense attorney registered to badge #26381. Report back with all available information ASAP.]


	2. Day 2: Investigation, part 1

Thought I had uploaded this here when it went on AO3. Sorry for the delay!

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 **[DAY TWO: INVESTIGATION]**

 **-xxx-**

Miles woke the next morning feeling… rather better rested than he would have expected. He sighed at himself as he sat up from bed; once again, he'd fallen prey to clichéd expectations. The Gatewater Hotel had once been quite well-off, and its sudden sale to a shadowy recluse had sparked all sorts of rumors. Somehow, the nickname 'Beast' had come to be associated with the hotel's current owner after one too many interview attempts had been rudely rebuffed. The columnist responsible for the title was something of a character herself, to be sure, and Miles put no conscious stock in Ms. Hart's claims of "something supernatural at work in that-there lodging-house" – but still, every time his surroundings revealed themselves to be merely an old hotel he couldn't help the slight twinge of disappointment.

It was all just his sense of drama; if he'd ever truly thought something was dangerous about this place, he'd have brought along Gumshoe when Franziska called him. Even this supposed 'captivity' was not too frightening: in a worst-case scenario, Miles could probably find a service entrance to exit through, or even break the glass in the front doors. Doing so would invalidate his promise to take Franziska's place, but in the event of danger, it would be an easy escape route.

However, he considered as he rose to face the day, it was hard to picture any situation that would lead to such a hasty exit. The circumstances inside the Gatewater were just too _interesting_ – and despite his clear fury last night, the Beast had not morphed into a hideous part-lion, part-boar, part-squid monster (as Ms. Hart's article had claimed). He had even unclenched his fists pretty quickly, and in the light of day, Miles' brief fear at the look in the man's eyes faded in comparison to his curiosity about what had caused it. In fact, he resolved as he dressed, today he would make the most of Wright's apparent disinterest in his actions to investigate as much as possible. The robots had been talkative enough last night, and though they seemed programmed not to reveal certain things, they clearly _wanted_ him to figure out what was actually going on here.

He'd need their help all the more, because Gumshoe still had not responded.

Last night, that hadn't worried Miles much. He'd been distracted in any case, by the awkward dinner. Though simple, the food had been as well-prepared as the tea he was once again served directly from the innards of the bellboy's ceramic body – but the other occupants of the room were all very quiet. The sort of quiet that Miles felt it would be beyond rude to break: a disappointed, weighty sort that left him eating as swiftly as possible in hopes of escaping the stifling room. And when he had finished dinner, and found his own way to the correct room this time, he had been _tired_. He'd showered and gone straight to bed, and even slept the whole night through for once, a clear sign of exhaustion.

So all in all, last night Gumshoe's silence hadn't made much of an impression. But no reply, even a day later? That was highly unusual for the man. Even setting aside his rather impressive results when given a single clear directive, Detective Gumshoe was nothing if not loyal and eager to please. He should have definitely seen the message, and even if he couldn't find anything he'd have certainly communicated that, as well as his determination to succeed anyway.

The message appeared to have been successfully sent… Miles frowned down at his phone as he exited his room, resending the text just in case Gumshoe had missed it. For the first time in years.

"Tweeting about your stay in the haunted hotel?" a voice asked, and he stiffened, looking up. Wright was leaning up against the wall across from his door, hands shoved into his pockets and a wry smile on his face.

"I'm texting a subordinate for work," Miles said stiffly, trying not to give away the way his heart was pounding. He hadn't expected to see the other man for hours at the least, and then only if he actively looked.

"Uh-huh," the Beast said sardonically. "Well, hate to say it but that's not gonna do you much good."

"Oh?" Miles clicked the button to lock his phone's screen. Casually, he slipped it into his pocket. "And why do you say that?"

"The signal's not too great around here," Wright claimed. "No outgoing calls. Or texts."

Miles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. _Well, I suppose I **was** complaining about the lack of creepy cliché…_ "Franziska called me yesterday."

"On _my_ phone," Wright countered. "It's the only one that works."

He held up a hand, boxy blue flip-phone dangling between two fingers. Miles noticed a Steel Samurai strap hanging off the device; he supposed he was grateful for that mild shock, as it managed to partially derail the irritation the Beast's smug attitude was already provoking in him. Instead of seething, he was able to counter quite calmly:

"I have four bars of service."

He unlocked his phone and made certain to close the messaging app before turning the screen to face Wright and holding it out demonstratively. He kept a tighter grip on it today than he had yesterday, just in case the Beast were inclined to steal it again.

However, Wright's lips just quirked into a little more obvious of a smirk.

"All right," he said, holding up his empty hand placatingly. "You win. So go ahead. Call someone."

 _…Maddening._

"Fine," Miles replied shortly. He should probably not let himself be so obviously goaded, but he couldn't _help_ it, not when the Beast was smiling like that. "I will then."

He opened his contacts, then tapped on Franziska's number. He maintained eye contact as he held the ringing phone up to his ear, and waited for his sister to pick up.

Three long beeps later, the call dropped.

He huffed. Hit redial.

Once again, it started to ring – then was cut off by a _beeeep, beeeeep, beeeep, click_. Calling Gumshoe had the same result, all four times. Even calling 911 – at which Wright settled back more comfortably against the wall, eyebrows raised – garnered no better results. It was as if the phone started to connect, only to abruptly lose all signal despite clearly claiming to have near-perfect signal. Miles turned it off then on again. Called Gumshoe one more time.

Nothing.

"Hey, it looks like you're having some phone trouble there," Wright offered. His tone was perfectly friendly, the – "Want to borrow mine?"

Miles took a deep breath in through his nose. "Obviously, there's construction on a nearby cell tower or something."

"Obviously," the Beast agreed.

"What's your carrier?"

It was the same as his own.

"So using your phone won't make any difference. Actually, given its… age, it'll be even worse," Miles said semi-tactfully.

"Absolutely," the Beast nodded. He offered his phone forward.

"...This is completely pointless," Miles said, but took it. He flipped it open and, under the pretense of fumbling with the keyboard, quickly checked the speed-dial. On a phone this simple, there were only five: Maya, Trucy, Office, Mom, Mum. Not exactly helpful… though, the suggestion that perhaps at least some of the robots were named after real people was interesting.

Not wanting to take too long, Miles tapped Gumshoe's number in quickly, and hit the call button. Holding it up to his ear, he raised his eyebrows expressively as the first ring was interrupted –

By Gumshoe's voice. "Detective Gumshoe here. Who's calling, pal?"

"G-Gumshoe," Miles startled. "I – hello."

"Oh, hello sir! Did you get a new phone?" The detective's voice lightened cheerfully.

"I – no, mine was having trouble getting through… Didn't you see my missed calls? My, er, texts?"

"Wow," Wright said, over the sound of Gumshoe's vehement protests that he would have called back immediately if he'd seen something like that, "I can't believe my dinky old phone is working when your 'masterwork of electronics' isn't. It's like _magic_ , or something."

Miles glared at him.

Wright winked back.

"I – no, Detective, I'm not in any trouble," Miles said into the phone, still glaring. "I was just thinking..." he couldn't talk about the badge in front of Wright, so another topic he'd been meaning to discuss with the detective – "about the suspect in that robbery yesterday. I know it's not my case anymore, after I took this time off. But I suggest you release Ms. O'Cent and take a closer look at the witnesses."

"Ann?" Gumshoe sounded doubtful. "But, sir, she was standing right over the body… and her hands were all bloody…"

"Yes, but she's a nurse and his ribs were broken. I suspect she was simply performing CPR. Why else touch him when he'd already been shot?"

"I mean – I guess she could've been," Gumshoe said. "She did say something like that, but her purse had the necklace stuck into it! I thought she was just was grabbing it from inside his coat."

"If that were the case, her purse would have been bloody. The necklace as well. Her hands were covered in the stuff, after all… I believe the real robber dropped the necklace into her purse as part of an attempted frame-up. Check into it, Detective."

"Yes sir! I'm on it!" Gumshoe replied. Miles heard him saluting – he wasn't sure _how_ , exactly, but he did – and then, with a quick farewell, he ended the call.

Wright was looking at him oddly.

"That's… not really what I expected," he said, almost under his breath. Taking his phone back with a rough swipe that scraped warm callouses against Miles' own fingers, the Beast tucked the old (and so-called 'magic') Nokia back into his hoodie pocket, then looked off to the side, scratching his head through the beanie and pursing his lips thoughtfully.

" _Shoot_ ," he said after a moment, with great feeling. "I guess Maya had a point after all."

Miles frowned.

"Hey," the Beast said, tucking his hands back into his pockets and _smiling_. An actual, honest smile, not a smirk. Head-on. That was perhaps an odd way to describe a smile, like a collision, but it felt accurate. That smile _felt_ like a – Miles wasn't sure how to – well, it was something all right. "D'you like pancakes?"

"…Pancakes," Miles echoed, a little dumbly. He wasn't sure if he was staring. Probably. But you didn't see a smile like that every day. He felt he could be excused.

The smile briefly became an eyes-shut, shoulders-shaking, open-mouth, warm-voiced laugh, which was even _worse_. "Breakfast. I'm cooking."

"I – yes," Miles agreed, more than a little blinded. "All right."

 **-xxx-**

Apollo, Maya, Pearl, Trucy, and the Bellboy were in the kitchen when they arrived. At the sound of the door, they all swiveled as one to turn their – well, with the exception of Apollo, none of them really had anything that could be called a 'face', but their front ends turned to look at the two men in the entryway.

"Aw, Blue, you didn't ruin it this time!" Maya cheered, sounding genuinely happy. Apollo made an amused sort of ticking sound.

"Shut up, you," Wright replied, walking further into the room. Miles hung back to watch the interaction. "And what's this 'Blue' thing about?"

"Well, the usuals aren't working, and I'm not gonna call you Wright all the time," the ladder stated reasonably. There was a brief pause, during which her feet wobbled excitedly, and Wright ducked his head with a beleaguered sigh, before she delivered her punchline: "You're wrong way too often for that!"

"Wow, what a wit," Wright commented dryly, before turning back to look at Miles. "Hey - uhm….."

"…My name is Miles Edgeworth," Miles supplied, after a long moment. "It's not really been a pleasure so far."

At this, the clock snorted so violently, it slid backwards along the counter. Wright whirled on it, immediately. While Miles was still attempting to figure out the physics of what had just happened, the ex-attorney grabbed ahold of the clock and lifted it up in front of his face.

"You got something you want to say, Apollo?" he asked in a low voice.

"No, you seem to have a pretty good handle on things so far, boss," the clock muttered back, completely unintimidated. "I can't believe he hasn't declared undying love yet."

"It's on the schedule for 9:30, actually. But you're right, we don't wanna miss it. Hey, Apollo," the clock started to squirm and protest, but Wright only gripped him tighter, flipping him around to fiddle with something on his back, "mind letting us know when it's time?"

"I hate you," Apollo grumbled as the Beast set him down again. Wright ignored him, simply turning back to Miles with a grin plastered on his face.

"So!" He said, clapping his hands together. "Now that we've got _that_ settled – breakfast?"

Maya began to giggle softly. Wright shot her a grin, before turning to rummage the cabinets. He pulled out a bowl, a skillet, got some milk from the fridge, and then grabbed a box of pancake mix from a final cabinet.

Miles winced at the sight, and interjected, "I thought _you_ were making breakfast."

"Well, yeah," Wright shrugged. He gestured at the stove. "Grab a stool, they'll be done in a few."

"I don't eat foods made from powders."

Wright spun back around, mouth open. "Are you serious?"

Miles huffed, and crossed his arms. "I assume you're stocked with eggs, flour, and baking powder? Making pancake batter is hardly a mean culinary feat."

Wright blinked a few times, mouth still open. His lips curled up at the edges, and he shook his head, opening his mouth further to speak –

"Of course, if you can't cook them, I'd be more than willing," Miles suggested.

"Nope," Wright denied instantly, shaking his head firmly. "No can do, even if –" he glanced at Maya and swallowed down whatever comment he wanted to make. "You're the guest, just sit down. I can cook actual pancakes if you really care that much. It's. It's fine."

Miles slowly settled onto the stool offered him, and watched with narrowed eyes as Wright made a tremendous mess all over the countertops. Clearly, something had changed since the night before… doubtless the result of that 'talk' Maya had given him. Something about the phone call earlier seemed to have shifted whatever impression Wright had of him, too. Miles suspected he knew why, but the whole turnaround only raised more questions about Wright's past. Was it truly just his bad impression of prosecutors that had been the cause of all that hostility before now…?

No, it couldn't have been. Still, the observation paired intriguingly with the badge from last night. He'd simply have to remain observant.

…And not just of the deep rumble of Wright's laugh, the way his eyes shone bright when he looked at his 'daughter', the banter he slipped into with _all_ the robots once he forgot Miles was there. With the exception of the Bellboy (who called him 'Sir' and attempted multiple times to give pancake-making advice, before giving up and leaving the room altogether), Wright appeared to treat his animatronics as real friends. There were nuances to each: he was more jokey with Maya, a little more sarcastic to Apollo, gentler with Pearl and indulgent with Trucy. Still, none of his reactions seemed put-on in the way his Beastly attitude had. Miles grew convinced, over the course of the next half-hour, that this was Wright's true personality, and vastly preferable at that.

He wanted to remain objective and insightful, especially as his own treatment so far had been anything but kind; but watching Wright with his robot family was oddly charming. The man _was_ handsome, in a scruffy sort of way, and fairly clever based on the little barbs of wit he kept muttering, and his smile made Miles feel vaguely squirmy and uncomfortable. Add in the clear lack of talent with which he prodded at the pancakes, frequently consulting both his companions and his cookbook – this man was relaxed, happy, kind and a little goofy – completely different than yesterday's Beast.

A good portion of that ease vanished the moment he shut off the stove and turned around to find Miles watching him closely, chin propped on a fist. Shoulders stiffening, the Beast made an attempt at a comeback:

"Wh-what's with the staring?" He put on a smirk, and set the plate of pancakes down in front of Miles a little too aggressively. Instead of retreating, the man only tilted his head a little and smiled mockingly. "You like what you see?"

"Of course," Miles replied. Wright startled, and he reached out to slide his plate closer, not breaking eye contact. "Homemade always beats instant food."

It took Wright a moment to catch up. He blinked, eyes darting down to Miles' hands, then back up to his face, catching on Miles' smug smile. Wright took an audible breath in, and the moment seemed to linger…

BRRRRRRRRRINNNGG! BRRRRRRRRRINNNGG! BRRRRRRRRRINNNGG!

Wright jumped back, yelping. Miles jolted heavily too, snapping out of whatever _that_ had been, heart beating fast. He looked around, relaxing slightly when the clamor was revealed only to be Apollo's alarm going off, shaking the clock around all over the counter.

"It's time for the declaration of love, boss," Apollo shouted over the din with clear laughter in his voice. Maya whooped excitedly, and Pearl downright _squeaked_.

Glaring, Wright stomped over and slammed a hand down hard on top of the clock to stop its ringing. It kept right on snickering.

"You're not funny, Apollo," he grumbled, ducking his head down and scratching at his beanie. Miles caught a glimpse of a blush on his cheeks, and had to fight not to grin like a fool. He needed to remember: logic. _Objectivity_.

"That was smooth, Mr. Edgeworth," Maya whispered in his ear, sounding impressed. "Keep that sort of flirting up, and he'll be swooning at your feet in no time."

"T-That's not my intention at all, I wasn't flirting," Miles denied, quickly setting to cutting up his pancakes. A moment later, Wright sat down across from him with a thump. Wordlessly, he offered a jar of maple syrup across the table.

"Thank you," Miles said, accepting it. Wright offered him a half-smile, but didn't say anything. He still looked a little embarrassed, and spent a good portion of the meal staring down at his plate, frequently elbowing his hatstand away as she repeatedly attempted to whisper in his ear. Miles didn't mind much, occupied as he was with scolding himself for what had, most definitely, been flirting.

Wright was attractive enough, yes, and his demeanor around his friends was compelling – but he was also the Beast. He'd behaved horribly last night, and had infuriated Miles once already this morning. He was intriguing certainly, but a reclusive robot-lover with a love of riling others up and clear emotional scars was not a good candidate for _flirting_. Besides, Miles had no intention of declaring love for anyone, and flirting would only encourage the robots to their matchmaking. It simply wasn't worth it.

This established, he cleared his dishes full of determination. He and the Beast would part ways now, and then he'd be free to investigate the hotel in peace. Soon enough, Franziska would return to pick him up, and then he would leave this odd recluse behind –

"Hey, Edgeworth." A hand landed on his arm.

It was Wright, smiling again. A little wryly, but in a way that seemed to mock himself more than anyone else, as though he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth:

"Come with me," he said, "There's a room I'd like to show you."

 **-xxx-**

Miles followed Wright out of the service areas and into the main lobby with some interest. The last time he had been here, he'd been rather distracted by the talking teapot, and his own curiosity about the hotel's only resident. He'd lingered only to drink a cup of calming tea (and then one more, because it was excellently prepared) before setting off to investigate. Now, however, the prosecutor noticed properly just how _eerie_ it was to be in such a place without any other people. The sunlight shining brightly through the glass doors at the front of the room contrasted sharply with the empty sofas, and the lack of an employee behind the front desk was almost distressing when combined with the absolute dearth of ambient crowd noise. The Gatewater was no low-class motel – it had once been a prestigious institution, and as such its lobby was built with many patrons occupying it in mind. Seeing it so abandoned, dust gathering in the corners, felt distinctly unsettling.

"I'll admit that I'm no expert on agoraphobia, but… don't you ever get lonely, living here?"

Wright stopped abruptly. His head dropped; his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. He was laughing insincerely as he turned three-quarters of the way back to grin at Miles.

"I'm not agoraphobic."

"…That's not a no," Miles noted. Wright's smile got wider; his eyes got sadder.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything illegal here, mister prosecutor, you don't need to question me. I mean, if anything _I'm_ the victim of a malevolent–"

"Oh, not the magic again," Miles scoffed. He cast about for a better topic, feeling a little guilty – but mostly frustrated with the insistence on mystical excuses, of course. "I'd be more likely to prosecute your fashion curse of an outfit than believe _that_ nonsense."

All melancholy vanished from Wright's face as he snorted loudly.

"What?" he said, turning all the way to face Miles. "Wait – really?"

"Obviously, it's your choice what to wear," he said, "but those pants are too long and they're fraying at the heels. Not to mention that jacket… how old is it?"

"Oh, right," the Beast grinned. "Yeah. I should get with the times. I should stick one of those frills on, that's the _latest_ trend, right?"

He leaned forward and flicked at Miles' cravat pointedly.

"D-dignified formal wear that has stood the test of time is very different from your old exercise wear from college," Miles retorted huffily. Wright just raised his eyebrows, still leaning in uncomfortably close. His mismatched eyes were bright and much as Miles hated to admit it he had a point and he was also doing that _smiling_ thing again, it was all very – he crossed his arms. "Then again, considering the state of your room, I suppose your sartorial choices are no surprise."

"Did you just call me a _slob?_ " Wright exclaimed with what appeared to be downright glee. "Are you – I can't even be offended. Franziska told me she was calling you on your _day off_. What are you doing in formal wear?"

"I – I own casual clothes," Miles defended the insinuation with vigor. "Just because I like to clean up before I present myself to the world doesn't mean –"

"Look, I don't know you very well yet," Wright interrupted, placing both hands on Miles' shoulders and meeting his gaze. "But I'm pretty confident in this – those casual clothes you own, do they ever get worn in a _public space?_ "

Miles reddened.

"I _knew_ it!" the Beast crowed, laughing out loud. He leaned some of his weight on Miles as he did so, keeping him trapped in place, unable to escape the friendly mockery. Granted, he didn't really _try_ – Wright's mirth was extremely distracting, even under the haze of his own embarrassment. Not all the heat on his face was from being caught out – not nearly.

"Fine," he said stiffly, when Wright seemed to have mostly worn himself out. "Fine, I get it. Your choices are your own; I won't question your abysmal wardrobe."

This prompted another chortle, but at least the man finally stood up under his own power, taking a step back for good measure. It was… better, definitely, to have some distance again. Miles was finally able to uncross his arms, to brush back his bangs. He no longer had to worry about bumping into Wright, or maybe grabbing onto his arms to help support him, or maybe touching his cheek so he'd open his eyes and look at him again from that close…

"Hey, no, I'm sorry," Wright snickered, wiping at his eyes with his frayed sleeves. "I wasn't – look, you're fine, okay? You're really… I mean, those clothes suit you, the suit is good. I'm not judging, I promise, it looks… really good."

He trailed off, eyes running over Miles.

"Oh god, _stop_ ," he muttered a second later, before turning his back completely and raising his voice: "Anyway, we're gonna need to go up these stairs here, almost there."

Miles blinked. Then he realized the rebuke hadn't been aimed at _him_.

He followed silently this time, warm all over.

 **-xxx-**

It only took another few minutes to reach the door labeled 'Business Center'. Miles eyed it uncertainly, turning back to Wright after a moment. He seemed to have recovered from his embarrassment fairly well on the brisk walk up the stairs, though for a man dressed in exercise wear his cheeks were suspiciously pink after only one flight. Miles was determined not to read into that, though. His earlier resolve not to flirt anymore was admittedly off to a rough start after that scene in the lobby, but now it was time to buckle down on the investigation. Of course, Wright had a point in saying he'd done nothing illegal – not openly, anyway, but these circumstances were just _strange_.

Miles was beginning to suspect that Wright, a man clearly hurting for human companionship given his earlier reaction and his mechanical friends, was indeed the victim of something. It couldn't be magic, but he had a strong suspicion that whole discussion about clothing would have been unnecessary had Wright still been an attorney. How he'd lost his badge was the real question: was it a crime after all? Or perhaps, had some other person _done_ this to him, somehow?

He knew which way he was leaning, but the only surety would be evidence. With Gumshoe out of reach, Miles had limited resources with which to solve this mystery – and not much time. Wright had made it very clear he wasn't welcome once Franziska returned, and while she'd never deigned to explain to Miles just what kind of deal she'd made with the man, Miles knew she was far less likely to be so sympathetic to him.

He had come a long way from cursing the man as an unsociable Beast, but – Wright was _warm_ , in his unguarded moments. He was handsome, but more importantly he seemed like a kind person when he didn't feel threatened, and Miles was intimately familiar with the concept of 'lashing out'. That didn't mean he had any intention of accepting his terrible behavior, but at least he was willing to consider that there was more to the man.

And of course, another curiosity about his circumstances: where had he gotten the money for all of this? Miles should have recognized even just the last name of any attorney rich enough to be able to buy a hotel and commission multiple advanced AIs. Perhaps this Business Center was where Wright did whatever he did to make that sort of money.

"After you left last night, Maya, uh, took me to task," Wright explained with a wince. "You didn't have any right to go looking through my things, but I get that I've been kind of… hostile."

"Pouring your drink on my phone at our first meeting didn't exactly endear you to me, no," Miles agreed. He could have tried to claim plausible deniability about the room, but it wouldn't exactly be honest, and he had a feeling Wright would be able to tell.

"Ah. Ha. Yeah, um, and then you turned out to be not so bad and – look, just," Wright sighed. "I'm sorry."

"…Apology accepted," Miles decided, feeling a little vindicated. It was… refreshing, to be rewarded for choosing to have an optimistic view of a person. Not something he was used to.

"And… You seem like a pretty serious lawyer, Edgeworth," Wright continued, now smiling a little. "So I thought, maybe you'd like to spend some time in my library?"

He pulled open the door to the Business Center, gesturing Miles in.

Stepping slowly inside, he looked around. The room seemed divided: most of it held the appearance of a typical, if somewhat upscale, hotel business center. Rows of computers sat on several wooden desks. Each had a comfortable-looking leather chair before it, and a pad of paper next to the keyboard. There were pens embossed with the hotel's logo sitting before each pad of paper, and a pair of headphones discreetly locked into the desk to prevent theft while still providing a quiet environment. In one corner there was a printer, and a phone hung on the wall.

However, the room also had several bookshelves spaced along the walls. And on those shelves stood row upon row of thick, matching leather-bound lawbooks. They weren't especially new – that much was obvious even from a distance, and as Miles stepped closer to examine the titles, it was quickly confirmed. Still, these books were comprehensive, several quite familiar to Miles already, while others had titles he'd never heard of. There were compendiums of California law, history of law, strategies for defense attorneys, texts discussing the interpretation and ramifications of the current legal system, and what looked like a series of influential case studies, just at a quick glance. Reaching out, Miles picked up the first of a series of three books charting the rise of the three-day trial system, and glanced at the inside of the cover.

 _Mia,_

 _Your star is on the rise, I can promise you that. Watching you in court brings a tear to my eye and the scent of fresh lemon to my nostrils – though it saddens me to see you go, I wish you all the best in your new offices, my dear. You've always been my best pupil._

 _~Marvin Grossberg~_

Closing the book slowly, Miles turned to look at Wright. He still stood in the doorway, looking somehow ashamed.

"I haven't read… most of these," he admitted, eyes locked on the book in Miles' hand. "They're kind of dense, and, well, I don't have much use for them anym– anyway. But, it seemed up your alley…?"

The books did look interesting. They appeared to be a good collection.

But more importantly, they were _law_ books, and clearly important to Wright. They had belonged to someone else previously, this Mia who'd gone to the trouble to have them all bound so nicely, and by the way he looked at them, his acquisition had not been just any old second-hand purchase. They meant something to the man, enough that he'd made no effort to get rid of them for all he admittedly didn't read them.

More importantly, he'd apologized for his bad behavior. He seemed to feel honest guilt over it, and something about their breakfast together had given him the impulse to share these with Miles, despite their clear link to the old career he'd told Miles to stop investigating. Showing him this room was not just an apology for poor manners: it was _intimate_ , an emotional openness completely at odds with his Beastly caginess about his past.

Most importantly, Wright couldn't be a bad man after all – somehow, in a way Miles couldn't quite explain, this room felt like the clearest evidence of that truth. The look on his face, the quiet way he waited for Miles' response, the way he'd laughed earlier and flirted apparently despite himself and scolded himself for it, blushing all the while, and still shown this room to Miles…

 _Oh no. This is trouble._

"Thank you, Wright," Miles said softly. "This was… unnecessary of you."

"It didn't feel unnecessary," Wright replied, with a small smile. "I hope you like it."

"I already do," Miles told him. He smiled back.

 **-xxx-**

Wright's library was as interesting as it had appeared on first glance. Not long after its owner bowed out with a smile and vague excuse of having 'stuff' to take care of, Miles was thoroughly absorbed in its contents, occasionally taking notes on one of the pads of paper as he skimmed through the various titles. He attempted not to spend too long on any one text, but it had been a while since he'd been able to immerse himself in a more critical and intellectual, rather than practical, contemplation of the legal system, and it was refreshing to say the least. Miles found himself getting distracted more than once by a particularly insightful essay or some legal minutiae he'd forgotten (if he'd ever known them).

Still, just taking in the library for its own sake was not Miles' plan. He used a second notepad for investigative notes, beginning with a transcription of the dedication at the front of that first book he'd opened. There was little else to note down for a while: Wright appeared to have told the truth about not using them himself. In fact, the whole collection appeared to belong to this Ms. Fey. There were a few other books with her initials written in the front, and one of the strategy books bore a loving note from a 'Diego' that seemed to have been a birthday present for her.

Miles wrote all the names down: _Marvin Grossberg, Mia Fey, Diego, Wright._ He recognized Grossberg, though it took some pondering to place the name. Once a relatively well-known defense attorney, he'd not been much of an actual court presence since the early days of Miles' own career. He was of an older generation, and from what little Miles remembered, he'd retired following some blackmail scandal. It wasn't likely that he was directly relevant to the matter at hand, though. The real link seemed to be in his protégé, Mia.

Something must have happened to her. Miles wasn't sure _what_ , exactly, but talented defense attorneys don't generally just disappear and leave their obviously precious book collections behind. Perhaps she had been killed, and Wright withdrew from the world – both legal and otherwise – following the loss? The emotion in his eyes when he looked at these books certainly attested to a close relationship and he did seem the sort of person who wouldn't be able to keep a personal crisis separate from his work life. Maybe his first name was Diego.

It certainly _could_ fit. The thought of Wright's great secret being the loss of a lover felt… incomplete, though. And just uncomfortable, in a vague sort of way that pulled at Miles' gut when he looked back at the note. The speech pattern wasn't like the Wright he knew, too smooth and even calling Mia _kitten_. Miles couldn't picture the Beast calling him that. Or – calling his girlfriend that, calling _anyone_ any kind of similar endearment, not without heavy sarcasm. He'd be more likely to stick to actual names, even in a tender moment, or a more classic pet name if he did use one. Something like _sweetheart_ , that Miles could imagine him saying, in a soft voice during a less Beastly moment. But he'd blushed too much earlier to be the sort of man who could even _write_ the words ' _I know this will make you purr, kitten._ '

And he didn't _look_ like a Diego, anyway.

Miles turned away from the books with some frustration, jamming the power button on the closest computer a little more harshly than necessary. He knew he was being irrational. It wasn't like he had any right to feel even the slightest inkling of jealousy – even if Wright was Diego and Mia had been his girlfriend, which was all just speculation at this point. Still, he didn't like to imagine the man in love with someone else, not _now_. Yesterday, before he'd developed a crush, would have been _fine_. But at this point – and would the internet _load_ already, the signal had full bars!

He blinked. That was familiar.

Taking a deep breath, Miles opened up the network settings and confirmed that the computer was logged into the hotel's WiFi. He tried turning it off then back on, and refreshed the webpage in the hopes that he'd actually be able to access his email this time. He ran the computer through a network diagnostics check. Nothing.

Every single computer in the room had the same result. By the last, Miles was long past his irritation, having moved on to feeling a little disturbed. He wasn't skilled with technology by any means, so certainly it might be easy for someone to make it look as though the internet should work while still blocking anything from actually happening. If the person in question owned several furniture-shaped AIs, then the possibility wasn't really in doubt – but what could the _motive_ be? Wright's invitation had not been planned, Miles was fairly certain, and so he wouldn't have had time to set this up beforehand. If his goal was keeping Miles from contacting the outside world, it didn't make any sense for him to lend his phone this morning – unless it was only unsupervised contact he disapproved of. But why would he care even then? He kept saying that he didn't want Miles to stay here, and it wasn't as though he wouldn't turn around and search whatever he wanted to as soon as stepping outside. Wright was intelligent enough to understand that.

 _Technology blackout – internet, phone_ was added to his list. He jotted down the badge number as well, and then, after some hesitation… _Romance?_

The robots had seemed very intent on bringing that up, after all. It was an element of the mystery at hand, independent of any feelings he may have. It would be more unprofessional not to explore that avenue of his investigation.

 _It's the only thing on this list that someone has openly admitted to me. It even makes the most sense to **start** with that._

Miles stared at the last word for a full minute, then flushed and crumpled the whole note into his pocket where he didn't have to look at it any more.

 **-xxx-**

Finding Maya first was a relief. Well, he ran into the Bellboy in the lounge again, and acquired another excellent cup of tea in the process, but Miles had by this point entirely given up on the teapot as a source of information.

The ladder, on the other hand, stood above all the rest in more ways than the obvious. Her handling of Wright the night before proved her influence on the man, and as an added bonus she was one of the more restrained when it came to the whole romance thing, though she clearly approved.

The fact that she was facing off with Apollo over a game of checkers set up on the kitchen table between them was more than a little bizarre, considering that there was no sensible way for either machine to move the pieces. But Miles considered himself adjusted at this point and didn't try to comment.

Instead, he merely asked who was winning.

"Me," they both said in unison, and then shifted slightly at one another in a way that was impossible to interpret as anything other than a mutual glare, despite the lack of eyes. Miles cleared his throat to keep from snickering.

"Right, well," he said. "Um. I have a question about your programming. If I tell you Wright's name, can you confirm it for me?"

"Ooh, like Rumplestiltskin," Maya said eagerly, turning to face him completely. "Yeah, I bet it's worth a shot!"

" _Programming_ ," Apollo scoffed under his breath. "Still on that robot thing, huh."

"Diego," Miles said. He looked straight at Maya. "Diego Wright, is that correct?"

"…No."

He felt his shoulders slump.

"Ah," he said, "I thought not. Still, I wanted to check."

"Why are you asking about Diego, though?" Maya's voice sounded odd. It was difficult without any facial cues to work off of, but she was holding very still, as well, and talking slowly.

"I found a note in the library from Mia Fey's boyfriend Diego. And as Wright owns what seems to be all of her books, I thought maybe…"

"Eugh, _no_." If she had a face to scrunch, Maya no doubt would be doing so. "Sis never dated Blue! That'd be so weird."

"Sis?" Miles perked up. "Do you mean – "

"Yeah, Mia was my big sister. She kinda taught Nn- I mean, Blue, everything he knows!"

Miles was abruptly struck with the image of a tall ladder practicing law. A ladder eliciting a tear from a well-established defense attorney's eye. A ladder being called _kitten_.

"…Do you mean Mia Fey built you?" he ventured. Apollo sighed harshly.

"How many times do we have to tell you we aren't robots?" he complained. "She means _sister_."

"Well, then – can you tell me what happened to her?"

For a long moment, the room was silent. Only Apollo's steady ticking could be heard.

Miles cleared his throat awkwardly, as it occurred belatedly that he was being rude. He'd only been thinking of the mystery of his investigation, forgetting the human (or at least human-like) element. It was a fault of his that he tended to get away without correcting, given his limited interaction with people who weren't detectives, criminals, or witnesses. Finding the truth often required or at least excused being blunt and invasive. Still…

"I'm sor-"

"She was murdered." Maya's voice was calm and matter of fact. "They thought I did it, but Blue helped me. That was the first I ever met him."

"Thank you, Miss Maya," Miles gave her a slight bow, which made her giggle a little. It seemed all was forgiven, at least from her; Apollo remained ominously silent. Still... "One more question – does that have anything to do with this situation?"

"Oh, no, that was years ago. The curse is more Apollo's territory than mine – which is kinda funny, since he's the one who never believed in magic!"

"Well, I do _now_ ," the clock snapped. Maya nudged him with a step.

"Yeah, but you totally would've been on the robot train too seven years ago, Mr. Skeptic!"

Miles watched as they scuffled and argued lightheartedly for a few minutes. Unless he was very much mistaken, Maya had just distracted her friend from his anger on her behalf, and he couldn't help feeling grateful. Still, he did eventually have to interject.

"Er, Apollo. Does that mean you know more about this…"

"Curse," the clock said flatly, turning back to face Miles. "Yeah, a bit. I don't think I'll be able to tell you, though."

"If you'd try, I'd appreciate it."

"And you won't stop bugging me until I do, yeah I know." The clock gave another muttered, "prosecutors" before clearing his throat (well, that was what the noise _sounded_ like, at least) and beginning: "Right, so. I work for Mr. Wright now. Before that, I used to work with Mr. G-hhhh. Nope. His first name is Kr-rrrrap, nope, um, he's related to a pro- a ro- this famous mu-u- _ugh_ , he was thorough. Anyway, my old boss got really mad at my new boss for being better than him, so he cursed Mr. Wright's entire office and everyone in it and here we are. Big help, right?"

Miles stared at Apollo.

"No," he said. "Not really."

"Yeah, I thought not." The clock sighed. "Look, I get that this is confusing, but your best bet – actually, all of our best bets – would be if you just fell in love with Mr. Wright. I get that's a tall order, but –"

"Hey, c'mon, Blue's a catch!" Maya retorted. "If I were into that sort of thing I'd be happy to date him!"

"He's really a pretty decent guy, underneath everything," Apollo continued. "I know it might be hard to see right now, but he's not exactly dealing well with the whole curse thing. The fact is, he's saved most of the people in this building, as well as a lot of others."

"H-has he?" Miles asked. He'd been intending to bring the conversation around to this point anyway, so he didn't know why he felt so _flustered_ but he did. He could feel his cheeks pinking.

"Yeah," Maya interjected, leaning in close. "Plus he's super loyal, and really fun to hang out with, and always pays for lunch, and he's really smart. _And_ he's really _strong_. He looks like a dork but he exercises every day! One time he knocked down a door to come help me, I bet it was _really_ attractive."

Miles' cheeks were definitely well past pink. He spluttered wordlessly.

" _Maya_ , stop." Apollo sounded horrified. "Oh my god. You're more likely to turn Edgeworth off with that kinda talk. No one needs to hear it."

"I bet he could carry you around, easy," Maya went on, undeterred.

Miles wished he could agree with Apollo. This _was_ a ridiculous conversation, completely unnecessary and it _should_ be completely unappealing as well – but. Um.

The thought of Wright knocking down a door to save a friend _did_ send a bit of a shiver down his spine. The thought of him carrying Miles through a door, maybe into a bedroom, maybe tossing him down on the bed…

"That's it, I'm outta here." Apollo hopped off the table and made for the door. Miles cleared his throat, clutching at his arm in hopes that the pressure would ground him. His thoughts were becoming completely inappropriate…!

Maya laughed at the clock as he bolted out the door.

"I knew that'd get rid of him," she said warmly. "He doesn't like to admit it, but I know he looks up to Blue. All of them do… I mean, he's basically a dad to Pearly as well as Trucy. We all really care about him. Well, except the bellboy I guess. I think he only cares about the hotel."

That… seemed to fit Miles' assessment of the teapot, yes.

"Look, I want to tell you something about that," Maya went on. "The falling in love thing. Blue didn't want any of them to know this, because he didn't want to worry them. And, frankly, I think he's lost hope. He's kinda a cynic about this sort of stuff. Makes you two even better of a match!"

"…What are you talking about?" Miles asked.

The ladder's voice was completely serious now, and she turned to face him head-on.

"Blue only had seven years to break the curse. He needs a prosecutor to fall in love with him, which obviously is difficult to do, stuck in here – and he only has three days to try with each one."

"So, I'll be released tomorrow then."

"Well, hopefully we all will." Maya sighed. "Mr. Edgeworth – we're coming up on our anniversary. If you guys don't fall in love with each other by the end of your three days… then we're all going to be stuck like this forever."


	3. Day 2: Investigation, part 2

**[DAY TWO: INVESTIGATION - PART TWO]**

 **-xxx-**

"I can't believe you're still in here," Wright said by way of greeting. He stepped inside and let the door to the Business Center fall shut with a clang behind him. "You do realize it's almost six, right?"

"This is an excellent library," Miles replied. He looked up, placing a piece of paper into his book as a makeshift bookmark.

The Beast had shifted his weight onto one foot, resting a hip against the closest desk as he used his free foot to scratch at his other leg. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, arms extended and tugging it down, exposing the neckline of his gray t-shirt underneath, as well as a gold necklace chain. As Miles watched, he brought one hand up to scratch at his stubbled jaw, yawning slightly.

"I s'pose," he spoke through the yawn, "but food is still a necessity, you know. The bellboy snitched that you never came back for lunch."

"Like I said, it's an excellent library. I was otherwise occupied."

"Huh." Wright lazily surveyed the room, taking in the evidence of Miles' studying: books stacked on a desk, the pen and notepad right in front of him. He dropped his foot to the ground and strode forward solidly, to pick up the second notepad on the table, the empty one. "Funny, he also said you took tea in the lobby again."

Miles' heart beat harder as he watched the Beast idly rifle through the notepad he'd used to write his thoughts on the investigation. Of course, the paper was safely in his pocket, and nothing he'd written was particularly incriminating of anything other than the fact that he was curious, but – Wright had spotted the one out-of-place detail immediately. Combined with his sly tone and his inviting words, it was obvious he _knew_ Miles had left the room and wanted to know why or where… although, perhaps he already knew that too, and was just waiting for Miles to admit it. Maybe he wanted to talk about it.

Falling in love.

"I did stretch my legs for a few minutes," Miles conceded, and stood from his chair, heading for the door but unable to get very far. The Beast stood still, blocking his way, head down as he continued to fiddle with the second notepad. Miles waited, tension building, feeling uncomfortably like he was on the witness stand.

It was very hard to resist the urge to say something.

Finally, Wright huffed a sigh and dropped the pad back onto the desk.

"Guess I should've shown you the Exercise Room too, huh?" He turned around and began to lead the way into the hall, talking over his shoulder. Miles caught a glimpse of a wry grin on his face which… really didn't help ease the tension thrumming through his body at all.

"In this suit?"

Wright's laugh took a half-second; it sounded quite frankly _startled_ out of him. It was a very warm sound, lively and infectious and a little bit rough around the edges. Miles felt flushed, wished that he could see the expression to accompany the sound; was simultaneously grateful that it had subsided to a low chuckle by the time they stepped fully into the hallway and Wright turned around.

"Hey, I thought we weren't commenting on fashion choices anymore," he grinned. "Anyway, _I'm_ hungry, let's do an early dinner."

They fell into step together, heading for the stairs. Luckily, the business center was only on the second floor, and Wright hadn't tried to head towards the elevators yet, so they avoided that awkward moment at least.

"So here's the plan," Wright spoke up as they descended. "You distract the girls with a stupid question – where they recharge or something – and I'll make sure we aren't stuck with a five-course meal by candlelight. Neither of us want that."

There was an especially dark, Beastly cadence to that last sentence. Miles spared a look at his host as they turned into the service hall leading to the kitchen. Wright held the door open for him, a gentlemanly gesture that seemed vaguely sarcastic given the context of the conversation and his quirked eyebrow, his smirk.

"So, you're still not interested in loving me?" he inquired, trying to sound mild. It was strange – Wright so easily and consistently claimed to believe in magic, in this curse of his. But if that was the case, he ought to be the most eager to push the romance. It was strangely disappointing to see him still so standoffish.

…Well, not that strangely. But _foolishly_ , and illogically, and not even entirely honestly. Miles certainly wasn't invested in falling in love with a stranger on a ridiculously short deadline. It should be relieving that Wright wasn't coming on so strong – and it was, obviously it was, or he wouldn't be hesitating to discuss the matter more openly – but. He'd still come to _like_ the man, in his better moments at least. Hearing him make such bitter jokes about the prospect of loving Miles was…

"Don't tell me you're _disappointed_ ," the Beast scoffed.

"Of course not," Miles huffed, offended. "I'm not interested at all."

"Sure," the Beast agreed, lips curled disbelievingly up at the edges. "That's why you brought it up."

"I was making _conversation_ ," Miles retorted, dander fully up now. "You were the one who mentioned candlelight."

"And you're the one who got all offended about it." That Beast still sounded so _amused._ "What, are you really that big a fan of candles?"

" _No_." Why did every _single_ conversation with this man have to go off the rails? Something about his attitude just got Miles so worked up – "Candles are an antiquated and inadequate light source and I already experience eyestrain so eating in near-darkness is less than appealing. Being mocked for my undesirability by a man who can't be bothered to expend effort on anything from personal hygiene to common courtesy is even _less_ appealing."

Wright stopped walking; turned wide, mismatched eyes on Miles and just _stared_. He glared back, panting slightly and feeling more foolish with each second that passed, but unwilling to back down.

"If you dislike me, that's fine. If you don't believe in love, fine. But if that's the case, stop being an _asshole_ about it." Shaking his head, Miles turned to keep walking.

"You're wrong."

He sighed audibly. Behind him, he heard Wright startle in response.

"I mean – you're right, I know, I. Am sorry. I'm just… _angry_ , but it's not your fault. I shouldn't take it out on – Maya already scolded me for this, look." Wright scrubbed a hand over his beanie roughly, undoubtedly giving himself awful hat hair. Miles turned halfway to watch, because the man sounded completely genuine once more, and like always it looked so _good_ on him. Even when he was biting his lip and mumbling cut-off self-reproaches, wrinkling up his face in an entirely undignified manner as he did so, it was so much less irritating than that blank mask of snide amusement had been. "You're wrong because – you're not undesirable, at all. Okay?"

"…Pardon?"

"I wasn't mocking you. I was just – it's ridiculous, right? I mean, you said it yourself – I'm a lazy jerk, why'd a guy like you even bother?"

"A guy like me," Miles repeated, stupidly.

"A – _yeah_ , you know, all – funny, smart, hands– " Wright waved a hand in a gesture that seemed to encompass all of Miles, reddening with every word. "And _stuff_. A-anyway, it's not that I don't believe in love or whatever, it's just – it's not realistic, with us. I don't like everyone getting all worked up about it when it's a lost cause anyway."

Miles took a moment to process all of this.

Then another to _experience_ it, to fully absorb that warm giddy feeling fluttering in his stomach at Wright's words. To look at him, bright red and stuttering and flailing about a little, so far removed from the detached Beast of a minute ago. This Wright was inelegant, clumsily charming, and a little _too_ self-effacing.

"In that case, I apologize for overreacting," Miles responded.

"N-no, it's –" Wright gave a great sigh. "Let's just forget about it."

 _I have no plans to do that._

He wasn't exactly skilled at interpersonal relationships, much less romantic ones. Miles knew others found him attractive physically (he'd be hard-pressed to miss _that_ much, given Wendy) but someone genuinely wanting any kind of relationship with him was rare. He was awkward, and something of a workaholic, and he couldn't recall anyone _ever_ calling him 'funny' before. Sure, he'd made Wright laugh a few times by now, but not exactly intentionally, so he wouldn't have thought… In any case, it was easy to read between the lines of the ex-attorney's flustered speech, and the subtext definitely spoke of _interest_. He didn't think it would be returned, and so he made no real effort to show it, but he _liked_ Miles. Not love, of course, but perhaps at least the same level of infatuation Miles currently was struggling to contain.

"As you like," he said, ducking his head to hide his smile. "Wright."

His companion made a slightly strangled noise. Then he burst into motion, swiftly leading the way down the rest of the short hall to the kitchen. He stopped just before the doors, clearing his throat.

"One more thing, Edgeworth." Wright put a hand on the doorknob, but didn't twist it. His voice and demeanor were firm. Miles suspected it was a bluff, that Wright's heart was hammering too, but he couldn't tell by looking at all; the mask was back up. The only difference was in his eyes – they looked warmer than before.

"Yes?"

"I know they're teenagers now, but." He pinned him with a stern look: "Don't swear around Truce or Pearls. I don't want them picking it up."

He threw the door open and stepped into the kitchen, not looking back, before Miles could do more than open his mouth – which was fortunate, because he really had nothing to say. After a speechless moment spent reviewing all conversations they'd had so far, Miles came up blank: not once had Wright said anything worse than an emphatic 'shoot'. The _only_ exception was that time he found Miles snooping in his room, holding what was clearly his most prized (non-robotic) possession.

All because he was concerned for the vocabulary of his robot daughter and her friend.

It was very fortunate that Wright didn't look back. Miles had a horrible feeling that his grin verged dangerously close to _besotted_.

He tugged it down to something close-mouthed, more respectable. Followed the Beast into the warm and noisy kitchen.

 **-xxx-**

"Mr. Edgeworth!" Pearl quite literally bounced over to meet him. "You guys are here _together?_ "

"Well done, Daddy!" Trucy exclaimed, banging an arm into Wright's in a way that definitely looked painful. He didn't wince or shy away though, just rolled his eyes and moved to put his arm around her in a quick squeeze instead. He made eye contact with Miles as he did so, raising both eyebrows pointedly.

"Have you been together all day? Oh, oh my – did you just return from a romantic stroll?" Pearl was still firing off eager questions, getting a little closer with each excited bounce. "Did you walk _arm in arm?_ "

"N-No! And kindly back away!" Miles exclaimed, very flustered. "Haven't you heard of personal space?!"

Pearl quieted instantly, falling limply to the ground and rolling backwards several feet until she bumped into Trucy's stand. The hatstand pulled away from her father to lean forward protectively.

"Hey! She was just excited!" Her tone took on a sly edge: "There's no need to be _shy_ , Mr. Edgeworth. True love is a beautiful thing!"

Miles spluttered incoherently. He made great effort not to look Wright's way; he had a feeling the man was smirking again. Knowing now that much of that expression was self-mockery didn't mean it made him feel any less embarrassed.

"I'm sure it is," he finally got out, trying to speak kindly, "but that's not what's happening here."

Pearl sighed: deep, more than a little fawning, and long enough that she really should be looking deflated by the end.

"The lordy doeth protest too much, methinks," she whispered sweetly at the end of it, still clearly audible to all. Trucy giggled. Wright abruptly stepped away, clearing his throat.

"Gonna check on the chow," he mumbled, beating a quick escape further into the kitchen. Miles watched him go, more than a little enviously. Finally, he turned back to the task at hand… the two robots eagerly watching him.

"You love to watch him leave, huh?" Trucy asked boldly.

"Wh- I do not!" _Maybe, in something other than sweatpants, she wouldn't be wrong -_ No! What was he thinking?!

"Oh," Pearl said, as innocent as her friend's comment wasn't: "you hate to be parted? You really are Special Someones."

"That's not what I –"

"Look at him _blushing_ , he's the color of Polly's suit."

"It's so sweet…"

"L-Ladies, please. Stop." Miles hung his head, gripping hard at his arm. He felt completely overwhelmed by their chatter; definitely a little ashamed. He was a renowned _prosecutor_ , for god's sake, he ought to be able to outtalk a pair of children!

But they weren't children. They were teenagers, a far deadlier breed.

"Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth," Trucy said after a brief pause. "We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She sounded genuinely contrite, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe her. There was no way her comments _hadn't_ been intended to unsettle his equilibrium, they'd been too clearly provocative. The question was rather why she'd do it…

And then it all settled into place. The familiar feeling of puzzling out a motivation left Miles smiling, embarrassment dissipated by understanding. It helped that he had some prior experience with this phenomena – though at the time, Franziska's resentment had been rather more blatant.

"It's alright," he shrugged. "I'm sure it must be difficult to see your father spending time with someone new."

"N- That's not-" Trucy drooped a little. "I _want_ Daddy to spend time with you. I want you guys to fall in love and break the curse."

"Of course you do." How could she not, when it was so obviously a defining bit of code? However, these AIs really seemed to have developed personalities of their own, and the hatstand in particular was an adoring daughter. "But that doesn't mean it won't feel strange, to suddenly have someone new in your lives. I perfectly understand why you might resent me, all the more if it feels like you must accept me regardless. A little teasing is only natural – but that doesn't make it all right."

She started to protest again, then subsided into troubled silence.

"Trucy isn't mean," Pearl piped up firmly, just as Miles opened his mouth. "She just likes to have fun, but she doesn't _ever_ really hurt peoples' feelings. You shouldn't talk to her like that! You're making her sad!"

He blinked.

"Th-that was hardly my – she was making _me_ feel s-" he caught himself just in time, cleared his throat. "Uncomfortable."

Pearl seemed to puff larger indignantly, but Trucy swung an arm to block her before she could spring into Miles' face (he still flinched; once her dander was up the unassuming bouncy ball became strangely intimidating).

"Wait, it's okay," she said. "I… I've figured it out!"

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"I've decided I like you, Mr. Edgeworth," she said decisively. "You seem really smart and nicer than you look."

That stung a little, but Pearl's protest hardly helped matters:

"I think you look _very_ nice, though," she said, with some odd combination of kind and vaguely threatening, still. Like she'd left unsaid both that he reminded her of an old friend, and that she wouldn't hesitate to make sure he _stopped_ looking nice if he hurt Trucy's feelings again.

"Anyway! I'm okay with you joining the family! I don't mind having a third dad, and to prove it I'll perform a special magic show for you once my body comes back!" She hesitated. "I'd do it sooner, but… most of my tricks are really hard like this…"

"I'm sorry – _third_ dad? Is Wright… married?"

"No way," both girls instantly denied.

"Dad is my biological father," Trucy explained, "and Daddy adopted me! It's been almost seven years now… and I was only eight then, so if you get married in a year it'll be a perfect pattern!"

Miles tuned her out as she began to ramble about finding another variation of dad to call him, sharing suggestions with Pearl. He was far more interested in a different emerging pattern: things that happened seven years ago.

Apollo joining (what must be) Wright's law firm. Wright adopting Trucy. And the so-called curse, stripping him of his badge and his friends and family of their humanity. There was no way this latest piece was unrelated to the other two; the only question was how.

"Trucy, could you tell me the circumstances under which you were adopted?" he asked, halting the discussion, which appeared to be settling on 'Papa' anyway.

"Well… okay. It might actually help," she said thoughtfully. "Y'see, it was right after we lost Dad's murder trial, and Mr. K-"

She stuttered to a halt, consistent with the curse. Miles took note of the first syllable, berating himself for not paying attention to them anytime before now. He'd been too skeptical of the supposed magic blocking the words to pay attention to what little had gotten through.

"Mr. K?" he asked. It was either that, or a hard 'C' – but Trucy's upper half bobbed forward and down in what could only be translated as a nod. "What did this Mr. K do?"

"He – he tried to take away Daddy's –"

Across the kitchen, something smashed. Trucy spun around to see, bumping into Pearl mid-bounce and sending her sailing across the countertop. She collided with a rack of hanging metal spoons, which clattered noisily to the ground. As Trucy dashed off to check on her friend, ignoring Miles' protests, three more robots pushed their way into the room: Maya and Apollo trailing behind a furious teapot already shouting about the state of his kitchen. As the (probable) lawyer-turned-clock tried to intercede on the girls' behalf, a chase commenced about the room: shrieking and giggling girls, furious teapot sloshing over at the edges, and an exasperated clock bringing up the rear. The ladder just stood back and laughed, raising the noise level even more. In short… chaos.

"Wow," Wright murmured into his ear, making Miles jump, "well done. This is way better than I expected. It's crazy in here."

Miles tilted his head to make eye contact over his shoulder.

"I did nothing," he deadpanned. The _you lot are the crazy_ went unsaid but definitely not unnoticed; Wright's mouth twitched and he huffed slightly.

"Hey, shut up," he said warmly. He tugged at Miles' elbow. "Let's go quick, before they notice."

Any chance at further investigating had been put paid to by the current pandemonium – and he had a feeling Trucy wouldn't have been able to finish that sentence anyway. At least he had part of a name, now. And he really _would_ like to avoid a 'romantic meal' observed by a bunch of nosy furniture convinced his amorous feelings were the key to their future happiness.

"Oh, fine," he replied, and let Wright tug him out the door.

The ladder now propping it open with a foot wobbled at them in a clear wave as they rushed down the hall.

" _Enjoy!_ " she stage-whispered after them. And – logically it was impossible – but Miles could _hear_ the wink.

 **-xxx-**

Dinner was… food.

"Look, I'm sorry," Wright huffed, as he tugged lunchmeat out of his jacket pockets. "I was trying to be quick."

"No, it's… fine."

"If you want to go back for more, you're welcome to – "

"I don't dislike sandwiches," Miles interrupted. He examined the loaf of white bread in his hands and sighed. At least everything was still wrapped in plastic. If the salami, American cheese, pickles, and ham had been covered in lint he would have _definitely_ walked out, matchmaking be damned. Though.

"You shoved a jar of pickles into your pants but you couldn't get any condiments?"

"I've got some grape juice and chips stashed in the TV room, we can watch a movie or something and hide away." The Beast not only refused to answer, but determinedly avoided eye contact and even began to walk away when Miles continued to just stare at him. "No one's gonna look there, we only ever use it for the same pile of DVDs so we're all kinda sick of them by now. I mean, except Maya, but she's got my back – okay, _what_ , I said sorry already! Quit glaring at me!"

Miles sighed, and followed silently after.

The 'TV room' was no home theater. Rather, Wright simply pulled out the room key for a suite a few doors down from Miles' own. It had one queen bed, a very large television on the wall, and – a desk stacked high with Steel Samurai boxsets?!

He'd been thrown by the phone strap, but he hadn't actually expected the other man to be a fan – but this was a really nice collection, the full series and it looked like most of the movies, and Pink Princess too, even the Nickel Samurai which was never very excellent, but – he even had _Iron Adult?! Steel Neo Olde Tokyo Again!_ The time-travel film had been something of a critical flop, and though personally he'd quite liked it, it certainly wasn't something even most fans would have…

"Gee, dial back the scorn a notch," Wright said flatly. When Miles turned quickly to protest that he was feeling anything _but_ , he was met with a sarcastic smile much friendlier than any directed his way so far. "Guess you're a fan?"

"It may be classified as a 'children's show', but the Steel Samurai series is well-written and an enjoyable watch for all ages," Miles agreed. "I'm most partial to the original, but I'll admit the current series of a feudal warrior familial unit is highly entertaining."

"Before you get too excited," Wright drawled, "Maya's the big fan, not me. I watched a bit of the Signal Samurais when I was a kid, but… that's pretty much it."

He didn't _droop_ , not quite.

"Oh. Well, we don't have to watch anything."

It was just a bit of a letdown, that was all.

Not a big deal.

Wright blinked at him, then groaned, dropping the food in his hands onto the bed as he reached up to drag his hands over his face.

"Would you _stop_ ," he mumbled through his hands. " _Please._ "

"I - I'm not _doing_ anything."

"Your face is."

"It is not!"

Wright peeked between his fingers, immediately closed his eyes, and laughed into his hands. Then he finally put them down. His cheeks were a little red.

"I really hope you don't pout like that in court," he finally said, then brushed past Miles to pick up a DVD. "It's not exactly dignified, y'know."

 _Pout?_ That was ridiculous! He wasn't so immature as to – that man was so rude, he had no idea why he felt charmed. The comment wasn't a compliment, it was an _insult_ , calling him childish and petty, and Miles felt furious with himself for not protesting the term.

But at the same time, he couldn't say anything, because Wright was blushing again. He fumbled with the disc, nearly dropping it, and stayed right in front of the television as he turned on the power and navigated to the main menu, despite using a remote control. It was obvious that he was trying to ignore whatever attraction he felt – incredibly, stupidly obvious.

And just as stupidly charming.

Miles was very quiet for the first half of the movie. He felt he had to be, because – this whole situation was ridiculous, it was concocted as an excuse to _avoid_ any kind of romance. But that wasn't quite true, was it? The scripted romantic dinner in front of an eager audience was something neither of them felt any interest in, particularly when there were such heavy expectations weighing on it. By leaving that behind, by sneaking out to eat plain sandwiches and watch a children's film together, all pressure was taken off.

Miles had always felt that he would like a dignified partner. Someone who knew what they were about, someone who had a way with words and was polite and respectful. His idea of a date – despite all his earlier protests – _did_ involve a restaurant with wine and candles on the table. Tablecloths, and cloth napkins, and multiple forks. It wasn't necessarily practical but the effort put into such an event showed the dedication of the parties involved… or at least, that's what he'd always thought before.

It was hard to reconcile the appeal of _this_ , then. They leaned back against the pillows, legs stretched along the bed, and ate simple sandwiches directly over their laps because Wright hadn't thought to grab any kind of plate or napkin. The bag of chips sat in between them, and they each had a bottle of grape juice on their bedside table. The lights weren't dimmed, the movie was a children's adventure story with zero romance. They weren't making eye contact or touching at all.

It was all so… _relaxed_.

Wright had chosen one of the first Steel Samurai movies – the original, his favorite. He ate without any kind of pretense at manners; nothing outright rude but it was clear he was most concerned with appeasing his hunger, not anything else. The grape juice was fizzy and Wright timed his burp to a scene when the Steel Samurai crashed through a wall so it didn't block out any dialogue. After the first twenty minutes, he adjusted himself from a seated position to lay back with only his head propped up, and it gave Miles an excellent view of the faces he made as he watched the film. He was very expressive, rolling his eyes at some lines, raising disbelieving eyebrows at the more fantastical stunts, eventually muttering to himself about how "that can't be historically accurate" or "he SAID he's a steel samurai, what'd you _think_ punching him was gonna do?"

Miles felt a stupid urge to lean down and kiss him.

When the bag of chips was finally empty, he picked it up and dropped it off the edge of the bed. Then – he would normally never consider this, but it was clear Wright had no room to judge – he scooted down to lay next to the other man, tugging his suit jacket down beneath him. They were closer, this way, enough that Miles could feel Wright's body heat. He felt deeply comfortable, and surging with adrenaline.

Wright _liked_ him. He was attracted to Miles, thought he was funny and good-looking and smart. He liked his pout. He didn't think Miles would like him back, and he may not believe in some all-conquering love, but he most definitely had a crush. And… there would be no point in denying that it was mutual. Maybe Wright hadn't quite realized that yet, but if Miles were to lean a little further against him, maybe he'd understand. He was clever, good at picking up on little clues.

Miles found himself wanting to drop a few more.

It wasn't wise. None of this was – the Beast was still a mystery. There were pieces, certainly. Some sort of backstory was revealing itself. He'd been a lawyer, then seven years ago had some kind of conflict with a Mr. K – most likely another defense attorney, given Apollo's work history. Somehow this had resulted in Wright adopting a daughter and then shutting himself away in a hotel, putting aside his badge and blaming it on magic. Odds were, he was being blackmailed over something. Thefts had a seven-year statute of limitations, perhaps something along those lines. All this talk of magic and true love was a smokescreen, a distraction to cover up –

But Miles didn't truly believe Wright capable of any crime heinous enough to warrant all this. The robots all believed in him so strongly… and beyond that, his own behavior wasn't that of a criminal. He was a jerk, but clearly felt guilt about his actions, and was willing to take steps to make up for them. He'd opened up to Miles far more than necessary, for all that he'd said little about his past. For all his secretiveness, he gave the impression of an honest person. Miles still wanted to figure out the full story, but that wasn't all. Not anymore.

He… wanted to get closer. He wanted to learn more about _Wright himself_. He wanted very much to know his first name. He wanted to know what it would feel like to hold his hand. If his stubble would be itchy when they kissed.

Miles swallowed hard. He had to remember that tomorrow was his last day here. He wouldn't have _time_ for any of that, even assuming Wright would want it too. Attraction didn't mean he had any intention to act on it; in fact, he'd been vocally opposed to the notion. Once their three days was up, he'd have to leave whether he felt satisfied with that or not, and Wright probably wouldn't ever contact him again. Everything about this situation was ridiculous, his feelings included.

"Hey," Wright whispered when the movie ended, turning his head to meet Miles' eyes from inches away. It was a completely unnecessary intimacy. "You wanna watch another?"

"…Yes."

This time, he put in the first season of the original show, and set it to play through all the episodes automatically. He turned off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamps on, and when he got back on the bed, it was closer to the middle.

Stomach in knots, knowing better, Miles tilted slightly left.

Their shoulders touched, and he felt Wright tense, then relax. Lean a little closer too, the Steel Samurai theme the only sound in the room.


End file.
